


big hands, I know you're the one

by ElasticElla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set late season five, Sam has a little alone time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	big hands, I know you're the one

**Author's Note:**

> title from blister in the sun

They’re staying in separate motel rooms for once. The rooms are attached, and the door between them is unlocked- but it’s still closed. Sam likes to pretend it’s because Dean won extra money playing pool and has a pretty little redhead with him. He wonders if she’s gorgeous enough for Dean to temporarily forget about Lisa, but he doesn’t wonder too hard. 

He doesn’t feel like thinking tonight. His mind keeps going back to Gabriel’s death, trying to force it into a trick. He’s come up with a dozen different ways over the past hour, but none of them ring true. What he wouldn’t give for it to be one. Lucifer’s face swims before him, and with a bitter chuckle he thinks he still wouldn’t give a yes. 

The small alarm clock blinks 9:47, and Sam rubs his face with a heavy palm. Thirteen minutes to think about something more positive, fall asleep, evade nightmares, and wake up fresh for a new case. Thirteen minutes to pretend this isn’t his life, these aren’t his choices. 

It wasn’t going to happen. Sam could feel it already; this was a brood in silence until two am, toss and turn inches away from real sleep until four, and finally pass out an hour before they’d go, type of night. He eases an itch on his lower stomach, leaving his hand there. The motel room’s far nicer and warmer than he expected. It’s comfortable, and Sam tries meditating. 

Meditating turns out to be a bad idea. It reminds him of college and Jess, sitting in the sunny quad, her voice murmuring, “one, two, three, four, five. one, two, three, four, five,” over and over. Sam can practically feel the wind in his hair, and hear the chattering students. The scenery changes to her room, and Sam stops trying to reach any inner peace. He focuses on anger before the tears can well up, if only he’d been better. If only, he’d been good. There’s a list of names that keeps growing, and thinking about them makes him feel tiny and useless. 

He thinks about Lucifer, because the Morning Star is all consuming and the other thoughts dissipate. 

He thinks about Lucifer killing the pagan gods, and _fuck_ his cock shouldn’t twitch at that. There’s something seriously wrong with him, and a hallway of gore should read as horror not as an invitation to prom. He grabs anyway, fingers slipping under his shorts to his already too hard cock. He slams his eyes shut as if the darkness makes the thoughts okay. 

Lucifer, fuck, _Lucifer_ , throwing him up against a wall with a small smirk. “Didn’t know you liked to be roughed up Sammy. Must be hard with your size. Though I suppose with that job of yours…”

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbles automatically, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock. 

“What would you rather be called?” 

It’s not a real question, Lucifer can read minds and the fantasy already knows what he wants. Sam doesn’t want to say it. Hot embarrassment and arousal courses through him, and he squeezes the base of his cock. 

“Now, now. Do you really want me to talk down to you? Make you feel like the twisted fuck-up we both know you are?” 

Lucifer’s voice doesn’t trip over the words, and precum dribbles down across Sam's knuckles. 

“Say it Sammy,” the devil purrs. 

A yes is trying to claw out of his throat, making him choke when his lips stay sealed and his hand moves faster. It isn’t hard to imagine a little more pressure, the angel holding him up with just two fingers tight around his throat.

Lucifer laughs, a low chuckle, He’s closer now, standing by the bed, and only the knowledge that Sam’s eyes are still closed keep him going. It’s almost too much, too close to a reality. He needs it to be a distant fantasy, he can’t be responsible for this too.

The angel doesn’t care about Sam’s internal struggle, only making it worse when he sits on the bed and it seems to dip. Lucifer doesn’t touch him, just lays next to him, watching. 

“Open yourself up for me.”

Sam pushes his boxers down hastily, and kicks them away. It’s desperate, he’s desperate and Lucifer must know that by now. He keeps his left hand wrapped around his cock, and his right moves down, fingers prodding his dry entrance. Lucifer hisses when he gets a finger in, Sam’s face twists with pain and pleasure. He hasn’t had time for more than jacking off lately, and he hasn’t been fucked for even longer. It’s warm and tight, and still weird being able to feel with his ass and fingers, but Lucifer distracts from that. 

“Yes,” the devil says. “I want to see how well you can fuck yourself Sam.” His voice drops, and he whispers into his ear, the tips of his tongue so close, “And then I’m going to take you so much better. I’ll wring orgasms out of you until you’re dry and realize you truly are _mine_.” 

“Lucifer!” 

Sam’s orgasm crashes into him, ass clenching around his fingers and cock spurting over his stomach. He stretches out after, content and tired. He’ll clean up in the morning while feeling guilty over his subject matter, for now, sleep was calling. 

~

Sam’s prayer- one word, orgasmic and desperate- is all Lucifer needs to latch on and teleport to his room. He stands in the shadows, his true vessel already half asleep. He wants to wait until the boy wakes up. He hasn’t decided yet what he must tell him, but there’s _something_. He can’t figure out if it’s the first lie he’ll tell him- that he’s not messed up, that Lucifer would only ever have a perfect vessel- or if it’ll be a truth. And then, which one? That Sam will be his in every sense of the word, that he’s broken too, or simply tell him to flip over like a good boy would.

They’re not in Detroit, and Lucifer doesn’t know how he wants to proceed. He sits and watches and waits.


End file.
